The Sands of Time
by Soulforger
Summary: An older Harry defeats Voldemort, but soon realizes the world he saved is not for him. Maybe if he started on the path he took sooner, things might've ended differently. He intends to find out. Time travel, but not the kind I've read before.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter._

**A Pyrrhic Victory**

Harry Potter had at last succeeded at the daunting task that had been forced upon him: the destruction of the Dark Lord that called himself Voldemort. It wasn't a glorious final battle, as the reporters of the Daily Prophet would state a few days later. Whoever read the newspapers would get the impression that the two leaders, Harry Potter and Voldemort, the icons of Light and Darkness, respectively, had marched ahead of their armies to meet their foes in a final clash that would ultimately determine the fate of the wizarding world.

In this case, as in many others, the reporters couldn't be farther from the truth; there was no glory in that battle, there were no armies, the leaders weren't even expecting to meet each other in battle, at least not so soon. It all started with a Death Eater raid in Diagon Alley, probably designed to sow terror and panic, and therefore bereft of any real purpose. Those Death Eaters, nothing more than a small group of recently initiated recruits, started throwing curses around as soon as they apparated, causing a lot of noise and little actual damage. However, that group of Death Eaters was unfortunate enough to apparate near a building that housed some of Harry Potter's men. You see, after the death of Albus Dumbledore, Harry had become the leader and fighter the wizarding world needed; however, he didn't become the leader and fighter that the so-called Light wizards _thought _they needed. Harry wasn't above using lethal spells in battle, he saw no harm in using forceful tactics of information extraction on prisoners, and he could become quite brutal and ruthless if the situation warranted it, while the _Light _wizards hoped for him to turn into Dumbledore's replacement, as in his carbon copy, complete with twinkling eyes and all. This led to a growing tension between him and the members of the Order of the Phoenix, who disapproved of his methods, and finally to the estrangement of Harry Potter from his former friends. The Order, now led by Alastor Moody, thought that Harry's increasing brutality in his dealings with Death Eaters was unacceptable, and brought him much too close to the tactics of the Death Eaters themselves. On the other hand, Harry started thinking the Order was nothing more than a group of idle scroungers, without the stomach to do any real fighting.

And so, Harry searched for like-minded individuals, ones who were willing to bring the fight to the Death Eaters and were not afraid to use force if necessary. He eventually found some who agreed with his methods, and managed to turn them into a group bred with a single purpose: the annihilation of Voldemort and his servants. Whoever they were, wherever they were found, Death Eaters were killed on the spot by Harry Potter's vigilante group that came to be known as the Crimson Brigades.

And on that fateful day, the Death Eater raid met three members of this group. It should have ended quickly, the Death Eaters being of low rank, and fresh out of school, confronted with Harry Potter's cohorts, whom, or so the rumour mill said, he trained personally. But it was not to be. The Death Eaters were being watched by a senior member, a man that had long been in Voldemort's service, and that man was unwilling to abandon the recruits to the Crimson Brigades' tender mercies, since one of them was his own son. He ran to one of the stores that was run by a blood-purist sympathizer, actually a Death Eater courier in the Alley, and told him to ask for help from anyone he could remember that was loyal to the cause. After relaying his message, he went back outside to help his brethren.

The shopkeeper, alarmed by the man's urgency and panicked tone, thinking it was something much more serious than a simple raid gone awry, immediately started contacting whatever Death Eaters he had access to. Seven people responded and quickly went out into the Alley to join the fighting; the older Death Eater who had called for help hadn't gone very far; his brains were splattered in the shop's window. Out of the original six recruits, three were down, probably dead, and the others were reduced to casting defensive spells; on their opponents' side, one man was down, while the other two were still going strong and about to overcome the recruits' defences. However, alarmed at the arrival of the new opponents, the two members of the Crimson Brigades called for immediate backup, and things started to escalate. Ten minutes later, with the arrival of reinforcements from both sides, the Alley had turned into a veritable battlefield; while the Death Eaters were loosing people fast, and their death toll was far superior, the Crimson Brigades were unable to bring down the enemy because they were simply too outnumbered.

After a good fifteen minutes of fighting, the Order of the Phoenix apparated into the Alley; however, an arrival that could have meant the demise of Voldemort's forces went spectacularly wrong. Since they had no relevant intelligence of the situation, and didn't know where in the Alley the battle was taking place, they were ordered by Moody to split up into three groups, each one should apparate to a different part of the Alley and communicate to the other Order members exactly where the fighting was. One of those groups appeared close to the fighters, too close, in fact. Their sudden appearance drew the attention of both Death Eaters and Crimson Brigades, and immediately the order members were cut down by a volley of lethal spells coming from both parties: Dean Thomas, Charlie Weasley, Hestia Jones, Mundungus Fletcher, Dedalus Diggle, Lee Jordan and Alastor Moody were killed instantly, while Fred Weasley would be paralysed for life from the neck down, George Weasley would be blinded, also for life, and Hannah Abbott would lose her right arm and leg. The other Order groups, after loosing contact with Moody's party decided to go to the location the others had apparated to, but were wise enough not to try and apparate as well. When they were already near the place, the group composed of Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Sturgis Podmore, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley and Neville Longbottom ran into the Lestrange brothers, leading a swarm of dementors to the battle site. Both groups started trading spells, while the dementors brought their full powers to bear on the Order members, who not only had to worry about the two Death Eaters, but also to stop the dementors' advances.

The final Order group, that included Bill Weasley and his wife Fleur, Minerva McGonnagal, Ginny Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, Poppy Pomfrey and Augusta Longbottom apparated to the opposite end of the Alley, near the Leaky Cauldron, farthest from Remus' group. They made their way through the wide streets and were about to join the Crimson Brigades in their positions, however, the distrust between these two groups ran too high and was too inculcated in their members, so the Order was received by a volley of reducto curses aimed at the pavement slightly ahead of them, as a warning to stay away. Cursing Harry's fighters for their foolishness, the Order members had to seek a position of their own, so they could begin fighting the Death Eaters.

About twenty minutes after the beginning of the battle, the Aurors arrived coming from the Leaky Cauldron's direction (later, Rufus Scrimgeour would state that the delay of the Ministry's forces was due to the need of securing the Leaky Cauldron, where the minister intended to establish his "headquarters", in order to "direct" the battle), only to meet Death Eater reinforcements that had three giants among them. The aurors would've been decimated if the Death Eaters and giants hadn't ended up stuck between the ministry's forces and the Order group led by McGonnagal; even then, they would have a hard time. Near the centre of the Alley, close to Gringotts, where the battle had initially started, chaos reigned. Screams, orders being shouted, a thick layer of dust rising, the flashes from the spells, the noise of explosions and the cries of pain from the wounded contributed to create a scene worthy of Dante's' Inferno. Beyond the Crimson Brigades' position, Remus Lupin's group had lost two people already - Arthur Weasley was hit by a killing curse and Molly ran wailing to his side, abandoning the fight, and was immediately held by a dementor that wasted no time in giving her the kiss. They had stupefied the Lestranges, however they still hadn't managed to drive off the dementors, who were seriously beginning to affect them.

Nearly half an hour after the unpredictable battle started, _they_ arrived. Voldemort seemed to emerge from the very shadows, a large contingent of Death Eaters accompanying him, ready to decimate the fools that dared defy his power. The man, if could even call him that, exuded an aura of pure evil; even his own servants cringed at his approach, giving him a wide berth.

Then, from within the Crimson Brigades' ranks, came Harry Potter, also with the remainder of his forces; the mere sight of their leader drew a loud cheer and was enough to give his troops their second wind, causing the Brigades to start firing curses more furiously than ever. Harry planned to secure one of the flanks, and in order to do so, he'd have to help either Remus or McGonnagal; he decided to help Remus' group, since they were being driven back by the dementors, and Harry didn't want dementors assaulting his left flank or Order members retreating towards his position. Harry was one of the few people the dementors were actually afraid of, having modified the Patronus charm to become more energized and to have it shot in a concentrated beam; this spell, one of Harry's specialities, known only to himself and a select few of his men, was the only spell known to actually harm a dementor, instead of merely driving them of, which made him a perfect choice to help against the dementors.

Unfortunately, he found himself unable to leave the position he held, since his followers could deal with Death Eaters just fine, but not Voldemort. He had started casting incredibly powered up spells as soon as he appeared, so Harry was left to counter the ones who could do real damage to his troops. Remus' group, left to fend off for themselves, retreated a couple of minutes later, and started running towards the Crimson Brigades, not knowing the reception McGonnagal's group had received. Sturgis Podmore had fainted earlier, and the others didn't think to rescue him in their panic to escape the dementors; they were denied their meal however, as a stray spell hit a building near them and collapsed a wall, burying Sturgis under tons of debris, much to the dementors' chagrin. He didn't die that day, instead he was discovered several days later by clean-up crews working to repair the damage in Diagon Alley, dead by dehydration.

A lone Death Eater got away from the main group surrounding Voldemort, hoping to reach Remus' group before they got to the Crimson Brigades' position. She hoped to gain the attention of one member of that group, Neville Longbottom. Bellatrix Lestrange removed her white mask and started to taunt Neville quite loudly; her taunts, as well as seeing his parents' torturer got through Neville's panic induced haze, and he stopped running, having decided to stay and face his tormentor. While Bellatrix taunted him with her annoying baby voice, Neville started a heartfelt monologue about his reasons for defeating her, obviously about having to grow up without parents because of her; when the talk was over, not that it was much of a talk, since the noise level around them was deafening, they started duelling. Neville should have won, or so he thought; his cause was righteous, Justice was on his side and he had been trained by the best (again, so he thought) the wizarding world had to offer after the death of Dumbledore.

But things don't always go as planned, and the real world is hardly a fair place. Bellatrix, no matter what people thought about her, was a powerful witch, and an extremely capable dueller, having lots of experience in battles, which she always survived mostly unscathed. It became painfully obvious after a few minutes that Neville was being toyed with. The witch hung him up upside down, started tossing him around and making him bounce off walls and the floor, and was hitting him with childish, embarrassing spells, like the Runny Nose hex, the Leg Locker curse, the Incontinentia curse, etc, all the while giggling like a school girl - a psychopathic, insane, bloodthirsty school girl. She got tired of playing with him, eventually, and her spells became increasingly more deadly. Neville was crushed mentally long before life left him; he had pictured this moment so many times in his life, how could it end like this?

He always imagined, as a child and then as an adult, meeting the monster who tortured his parents to insanity, fighting her, fuelled by his righteous anger, overpowering her and then eliminating her - not in anger, but to achieve some closure and avenge all those she had ruined. Not once in these fantasies of his did he conceive he might die in such a duel; not once did he consider her as a powerful opponent to take seriously, to Neville it was just a matter of being able to find her, the rest of the story was already set in stone. How could his revenge end in failure if it was _right_? _How_ could he possibly die without first killing her? It was simply not possible to end like this. These and many other similar thoughts ran through Neville's mind as his body was burned, cut, pierced and crushed by Bellatrix's magic; he died with a look of astonishment on his face, as if he simply could not believe he would meet his doom at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry Potter saw through the corner of his eyes Lupin's group approaching after being routed by the dementors, as he traded spells back and forth with Voldemort. He now faced a serious conundrum; having people he didn't trust at his side and back, or cut them down where they stood so they wouldn't approach his troops' position. A grey haired woman, one of his lieutenants, approached him inquiring about what exactly they should do to the Order members. Harry, clearly conflicted, ordered his people to allow them to approach; it wasn't that he thought they might be in league with Voldemort, or that he thought they might switch sides during the battle, it was simply that he was worried about what would happen _after _the battle, provided he survived until then. If most of his men were killed, if Harry got weakened enough, and there were enough Order and Ministry members, Harry didn't doubt they would jump him the first chance they got, probably to throw him in jail, all for his own good of course.

And, Harry admitted to himself, he had become too paranoid to allow people he didn't trust to fight with him and to have their wands drawn anywhere near him. So, he allowed them to approach. As soon as Lupin and the rest got close enough, Harry used a couple of spells he had picked up from some runes he had found inscribed in the ruins of an ancient druidic altar in the Scottish highlands - a quick _Stone to Mud_ spell caused the surprised Order members to sink into the ground, followed by a _Mud to Stone_ to ensure neither of them would bother him anytime soon. That being taken care of, he turned back to fighting the Death Eaters and their leader. The fight was turning into a battle of attrition, and Harry wanted to avoid that at all costs; his people were competent, good duellers, far above the average Death Eater, Order member or Ministry auror, however they were not numerous; Harry had about the same numbers as the present Order of the Phoenix, before the battle started that is; the Order had sworn in many new members after Dumbledore's death, most were newly graduated former classmates of Harry's; they died quickly, leaving only the older, more experienced members or the most apt.

A third of Harry's Brigades were down, either dead or too injured to fight anymore; the aurors and remaining Order people were _still_ tangled up in fighting the giants, once in a while one or two aurors would open up the barrier between the Alley and the Leaky Cauldron, where the illustrious Scrimgeour had ensconced himself, shoot a couple of completely useless spells that only enraged the giants further, and then go back inside. Harry wanted to rip his hair off in frustration at these people's stupidity; they were fighting giants double the size of Grawp with fucking _stunners_! No help would come from there, and Harry wasn't sure he wanted it. Once he thought it over, it was all good, as long as he didn't have to worry about the giants along with everything else, as his men were now also fending off dementors. But he still needed a plan to get things moving, the whole affair had been going on for nearly an hour.

He got an idea soon after, it was crazy, suicidal, and the chances of it succeeding were low, but then again, that was everyday fare to Harry Potter. He called three of his men aside, and told them of his plan, which caused all three to raise their brows; a petite witch asked him politely if he was out of his bloody mind. Harry assured them it would work, and it wasn't as if they had plenty of choices. Anti - apparition wards had been raised earlier in the battle, both to prevent enemy reinforcements from coming, but also to prevent enemies from attacking from their backs, which was precisely what Harry hoped to exploit. The three wizards concentrated and broke the wards surrounding the area; Harry apparated to the rear of the Death Eaters' position, right in the middle of his stunned enemies, shot a _Stone to Mud_ in a wide arc at the front of the building nearest to the Death Eater masses and apparated back, while the three wizards who brought down the wards were quickly bringing them up again. Voldemort, who had been busy shooting spell after spell hadn't even realised any of this, so it was a tremendous shock to see the whole building they had their backs to suddenly collapse on top of them, burying easily two thirds of his servants.

A shocked silence followed the thunderous fall of tons of debris. The Death Eaters looked around, utterly confused and disbelieving at the destruction of over half of their forces, due to a manoeuvre most didn't even know had taken place. Voldemort, on the other hand, was furious. Had he been facing his forces, the look on his face would have sent them scurrying like rats. He felt like he was about to erupt, such was his rage and frustration; even his deathly pale skin took on a pinkish tone. He had never, _ever_, been this mad. Harry felt a tingling in his scar, a testament to the strength of Voldemort's fury; ever since learning proper Occlumency, his scar had never bothered him again.

The dark lord was beginning to foam at the mouth. He looked up, past the mounds of rubble the furious fighting had caused, through the settling cloud of dust, to see something that shattered whatever sanity or restraint he had left. Harry Potter, the most frustrating wizard he had ever met, was looking directly at him - smirking. The bloody boy had the gall to _smirk_ at the dark lord! He knew then that this had been Potter's doing, it simply had to be! No one, absolutely no one could do this to him. Voldemort at first didn't consider Harry a threat, but he had always considered him a nuisance, a pest, a thorn on his side. It would take years to replenish his ranks. Foiled again and again and again by a nobody, a lucky upstart; it was enough to madden anyone! Then the boy turned to his left and started casting that infernal Silverfire spell of his on the dementors at an enviable speed. Two of his followers, obviously trained in the use of that spell, also started firing, albeit at a more sedate pace, leaving smouldering piles of ashes and black robes where dementors once stood. The death of so many Death Eaters, then the destruction of a dozen of their brethren in the space of a few seconds made the dementors decide they'd had enough. They started retreating to the shadowy alleyways, still under fire from Harry's men, intent on leaving the battle and their allies to their fate; the dementors wouldn't return that day.

"POTTER!!!" the dark lord screeched in his high-pitched tone. He started walking forward, leaving behind his followers, not sparing them a single thought. His mind was focused solely on the destruction of the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry got what he wanted, a respite from the battle for his men, no matter how short, and the attention of the dark lord, so they could duke it out without Harry worrying about protecting his people. Harry jumped over the improvised trench his Brigades had built, nothing more than a mound of earth and upturned pavement, and started walking in great strides towards his opponent. They both started trading spells soon after, both moving and casting faster than anyone had seen. Neither Voldemort nor Harry spoke the incantations to their spells, and wand movements were practically non-existent; even the wands seemed to be used more for the sake of conformity than actual need, such was the power and control over magic both displayed.

Each of them capitalized on their strong points, Voldemort relied on his great experience and superior magical knowledge and power, while Harry relied on his tactics, his unorthodox use of spells and his dirty fighting tricks. Harry was hit with a spell that broke some of his ribs, while Voldemort got kicked in the balls when he got too close; Harry scooped up a handful of dirt and threw it at the dark lord's eyes, and cast a spell while Voldemort coughed and spluttered. However it didn't have the desired effect, since he was able to dodge Harry's Ignition curse when it was about to connect; however, some unnamed Death Eater took it right between the eyes, causing his head to combust instantly, mask and all. This reminded all the people staring at the duel between the dark lord and the Boy-Who-Lived that there were enemies to deal with, and the spells started flying again. Neither the Death Eaters nor the Crimson Brigades wanted to risk firing at a distance and possibly getting their leaders hit by crossfire, so both groups moved forward, intent on engaging their enemies at closer range.

Meanwhile, Voldemort had cast a membrane over his eyes, like some reptiles possessed, to prevent any more tricks from Harry from catching him off guard; he narrowed his eyes at Harry, and was about to start taunting the former Gryffindor about using such low and dirty tactics when he reminded himself this wasn't a game and he'd have a hard time as it was to prevent the complete destruction of his forces. They started duelling once more, dodging, blocking and sometimes jumping over their opponents' spells, while casting whatever offensive magics came to their minds. A Death Eater was running past them, probably to meet an opponent, when Harry shot out his arm and hit the death eater's neck with his forearm. The death eater broke his neck, but this slight moment of distraction was all Voldemort needed to disarm Harry and send him flying through the air; he landed at the feet of a death eater that was scurrying around, looking to get away from the fight, but not daring to run away. Voldemort sent an Avada Kedavra curse at his fallen opponent, but Harry quickly grabbed the death eater's shins and made him loose his balance, falling on top of him and taking the curse meant for Harry. Unknown to Harry, this death eater was Peter Pettigrew.

Harry, calling on every bit of strength he possessed, got up and threw the corpse in Voldemort's direction, then dived for his wand. Voldemort was tossing aside the body thrown at him, and failed to see Harry transfiguring a rock into a sword and start running towards him, which resulted in Voldemort getting run through. In pain and bleeding heavily from his abdomen, Voldemort still managed to blast Harry away with a Bombard curse, the same that broke his ribs earlier.

Harry, for his part, was also in a lot of pain, having just had a couple more ribs broken. He blocked the curse too late and it was a particularly powerful one, but at least he had blocked it partially, otherwise he'd be dead. Harry got up, breathing heavily, and coughed up some blood; Voldemort didn't look much better, but it was hard to say anyway. The dark lord was favouring his left leg, was also breathing heavily, and had a hand close to his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

Then, with lightning speed, Voldemort raised his wand and the pavement beneath Harry's shook and rose up, sending him to the floor once more; the pavement took a hand-like form, and it began to fall down on him, but he managed to transfigure the mass of stone into cotton, thus suffering no damage. He tried to get up, but not before being disarmed once more. Voldemort had a triumphant smile on his face, thinking that Harry would die for sure this time; he was totally unprepared for Harry charging him, wandless, and leaping towards him, head-butting him in the process. Voldemort kissed the floor this time, surprised for the first time in many years, as if he could not believe the stupidity of what Harry had done. He got up snarling, ready to put the whelp out of his misery once and for all, and he saw Harry already had his wand in hand; and although it was pointed in his general direction, Harry himself had his back to him and had his left arm covering his eyes.

A brilliant white light, so brilliant it hurt, exploded in his sight; standing so close to Harry, he would've been blinded instantly had it not been for the membrane he had conjured around his eyes earlier. Even then, it didn't prevent the pain he felt or the scream of agony that escaped him. Harry saw his chance and took it, sending a cutting curse towards Voldemort's wand arm; arm and wand fell to the ground and were immediately incinerated by another curse of Harry's. Voldemort, still dazed and in pain, then felt his thorax crushed by the same curse he had sent Harry earlier. He fell to his knees, looking more hideous than ever.

"Go ahead Potter. Finish it! I shall rise again and again, until your luck runs out! I'm immortal!" he then started laughing, drawing the attention of the people fighting around him.

The death eaters were nearly annihilated, and those few still standing stopped fighting, staring in disbelief at their lord's defeat; the Brigades knew they should wrap it up and finish off the remaining enemies, but no one dared look away from the scene of Harry Potter standing over the kneeling dark lord. Harry, not responding, waved his wand, causing metal cables to shoot out from the ground and restrain Voldemort's limbs.

"You know, I'm not so aloof as a leader that I let my people fight and only intervene personally when it's absolutely necessary, like you do." Harry got something out of his pocket and kept it in his left hand. "Did you think I was just waiting for the right time to arrive and save the day? That I was taking my sweet time so I could appear when I was needed the most like the hero of a fucking fairy tale?" Harry snorted and then continued "When I heard that this whole mess was escalating and turning into something big, I decided to take my chances and led a group to your house in Little Hangleton. Yes, I know where it is." said Harry when he saw the dark lord's eyes widening. "You see, by using my blood in your resurrection, you essentially fucked yourself big time. The Fidelius charm around your manor recognized me as being you, so the moment you cast the charm, I automatically gained the knowledge of it's location, which was pretty useful. Let's not forget that any tracking spells performed by using my blood as an ingredient gave me two locations, the other one being, obviously, you; I got to thank you, we wouldn't have been able to stop so many of your raids or discover the location of so many of your death eaters if we didn't know where you were most of the time."

Voldemort still couldn't believe what he was hearing; it had sounded a brilliant idea at first, using the blood of his greatest enemy, and on top of that gaining protection from the killing curse. Now, in retrospect, he realized it was one of the stupidest things he might've done. But no, it was Potter and his damn luck; he shouldn't have survived that night at the cemetery, and he certainly wasn't supposed to turn the table on him.

"Want to know the funniest part? Of course this is only me theorising a bit, but since we share the same blood, you probably could've walked into Privet Drive in broad daylight after my fourth year, and no one would know. If the wards around that place, assuming there really were any wards, were based on blood, you could've got the drop on me and killed me anytime you liked. Hell, they didn't stop apparating, you could've apparated to my room, AK'd me and go back in less than five seconds!" Harry said this as if he was telling a particularly funny joke to a friend of his, while Voldemort acquired a pinkish tone on his face for the second time that day.

"It changes nothing Potter, nothing! You still can't kill me, I'm still immortal!" yelled Voldemort.

"No, you are not immortal, Riddle, and never have been. Me and some of my top fighters went to your manor, hoping to find you without the bulk of your death eaters around; an assassination mission, if you prefer. You had already left, of course, but I did find this!" Harry dropped what he had in his hand to the ground, waved his wand and restored it to its original size. For the first time anyone could remember, Voldemort had a look of pure fear on his face, as he looked at the dead body of Nagini.

"She was the last." Harry informed the dark lord, who now showed nothing but increasing terror. Harry lowered his voice and said, "I know what you did to yourself. If you're wondering why you didn't notice they were being destroyed, let me tell you it's because you couldn't. You maimed your own soul so much that you became desensitised to it; you are truly inhuman." Harry pointed his wand at the prone wizard, and then said, "You're not immortal, you were just hard to kill." Harry incinerated his body. Voldemort truly lost his mind in those final moments, and as the flames consumed him, he began calling Harry a liar, that he couldn't possibly die. He died laughing hysterically, like the madman he was.

Harry looked around. His people had suffered casualties, but they weren't the ones in worst condition. The death eaters had been wiped out, and with them two generations of the most prominent pureblood families in Britain, most of which would die out for lack of heirs. The Order of the Phoenix wasn't exactly in top condition either, with over half of it's members dead or incapacitated; Remus, Hermione and Ron were still where Harry had left them, stuck on the ground. Hermione and Ron were both crying, presumably at the deaths of the elder Weasleys, while Remus was trying to get his neck off the ground, hopping to catch a glimpse of Tonks. Surprisingly, the Order group that was fighting the giants was the one who lost the least members, with only Augusta Longbottom (stepped on by a giant) and Kingsley Shacklebolt (throat slit by a cutting curse) as casualties. Ginny had her lower right leg crushed, or rather reduced to a pulp no longer recognizable as belonging to a human being, as she dodged a giant's club too late, and Tonks and Bill had severe burns, but nothing untreatable or life threatening, except for Ginny's case. The reason why they were in such good condition was the fact that the giants tended to get confused in battles, and they often swung their clubs at the first thing they saw moving, sometimes death eaters, other times aurors, other times Order members. The aurors took the brunt of the damage in this case, out of the eleven who stayed in the alley to fight, only a hysterical Dawlish hadn't been turned to paste by a giant's club.

"Gather our dead, leave the rest. Those who can stand and move, help the others who can't. We'll be apparating to St. Mungo's, and I want some of you to secure a hospital ward for our members only. If possible, I want three people standing guard..." here Harry faltered, his injuries beginning to take their toll. He was having difficulty breathing, and wondered if some of his ribs had punctured a lung.

"You all know what to do people, so let's go!" said a young woman that appeared next to Harry, supporting him and stopping him from falling down.

"Let's go, Soi. I've had enough of this shit." mumbled Harry.

Thus ended the Battle of Diagon Alley, a battle no one wanted or predicted; there was little glory, little honour, lots of blood and even more death. If one were to read the papers some days later, one would wonder if the reporters even bothered to visit the site, since they insisted on calling the battle glorious; bodies would be dug out for days from the rubble, the damage would take months to repair, and some bloodstains would never go away. Close to the apothecary, people would pass by squeezing themselves against the building and avoid the middle of the street, and later the surrounding stores and buildings would be abandoned. That had been the site of Voldemort's execution, and sometimes the charred contour of a body could be seen on the stones of the pavement; some even said they could see black smoke rising from that spot.

* * *

_A/N: The first chapter of my new fic. Wrote it from a third person's perspective, it would've taken me forever to insert dialogue throughout the entire thing; besides, with more dialogue I'm sure I'd have screwed up somehow, not that I'm entirely happy with it. I just tried to describe a realistic battle (whether I managed to or not is for you to decide) and the sometimes stupid, unexpected deaths that may occur in a war. Hope you enjoy it._


	2. Hospital Blues

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I probably never will.

**Chapter 2 – Hospital Blues**

Harry would like to be able to say hospitals didn't bother him. He'd like to be able to say the white color, uncomfortable beds and smell of disinfectant didn't bother him at all.

Unfortunately, that would be a complete and utter lie.

Taking all of his adventures in Hogwarts into account, as well as all of his quidditch related injuries, Harry had probably been Madame Pomfrey's best 'costumer' ever; and after Hogwarts, the injuries he suffered while tracking down the horcruxes and battling death eaters and all manner of dark creatures ensured he knew a fair share of hospitals and infirmaries around Europe. Understandably, he came to dislike them.

It wasn't that he developed a phobia towards hospitals and the like (although it was pretty damn close), he just didn't want to be forced to stay there, and got a feeling of permanent discomfort whenever he had to, mainly because it was a given that he'd be in pain for awhile.

Therefore, awakening to see a pristine white ceiling, coupled with the lovely scent of disinfectant, caused a groan of exasperation to escape Harry.

'Someday, I'd like to come to a hospital to visit a sick friend, or maybe taunt a bedridden enemy, without being a patient myself. Is that too much to ask?'

"Hello, commander! How are you feeling?" asked the same woman that had helped him apparate to St. Mungo's.

"As if Grawp gave me a massage. How long was I unconscious?" asked Harry.

"Not long, two hours at most. We've secured an adequate sized ward of the hospital, as well as the necessary medical staff to ensure a proper treatment to our woun…"

"Did you have to threaten the doctors, or was it their choice to stay?" interrupted Harry.

She thought it over for a couple of seconds, then replied "Some stated it was their duty to treat the patients, no matter who they were; others nearly got on their knees, thanking the gods for the opportunity to treat the great hero Harry Potter and his men; the more reluctant ones were told to stop bitching and get to work, otherwise their next meal would consist of their own teeth."

Harry smiled slightly and said "Good work. Now, what's wrong with me?"

"Crushed and broken bones in the chest. One of your broken ribs punctured a lung, and you started coughing up blood and choking as soon as we arrived, that's when you passed out. We managed to drain the blood in the respiratory system and keep you stable until you were seen by a doctor, other than that, a few minor wounds."

"I see. How long will I have to stay here? Can I leave today?" asked Harry hopefully, looking for a few moments like a kid begging his mother for sweets.

"Two days at least and no, you can't. Your wounds are serious, even if they're not life-threatening. And please," she added, at the look on Harry's face "never show the rest of the men that look you just gave me, commander. It was beyond pathetic."

"I'm not pathetic. I'm just sick, and I don't like hospitals." mumbled Harry, trying and failing to look angry at his lieutenant and friend.

The woman grinned and said "I know you're sick, commander, but your mental state doesn't concern me! Just your physical health, so I'll make sure you stay put for as long as necessary."

Harry dropped his head and let out a long sigh; he was stuck there, end of story. At least the company wasn't so bad, but seeing so many people he felt responsible for injured was enough to tone down the feelings of elation and triumph he felt at Voldemort's death. Of course, thinking about the injured led him to think about the dead. His dead. He didn't want to ask it, he didn't want to hear it, but eventually he would need to know.

The woman Harry had referred to as Soi watched as Harry's face went from content resignation to a pensive frown, and then to sorrowful in a few seconds. It would've been hard for anyone else to read all these emotions in him, but Soi had known him for years, and had been through situations like these before, so she knew what to expect from him; after all, brothers-in-arms develop a rare level of understanding between them, and as one of Harry's second in command it was required of her to sometimes interpret the needs and thoughts of her superior. Therefore, Harry's next question was far from surprising.

"How many died?" asked Harry with an almost subdued voice.

"We lost eleven of our people." she said, trying to keep her composure, although it was clear she was upset at what she was reporting. "There are three more critically injured. Two of them probably won't last the night." she finished, her voice low and her head bowed.

"Eleven?" asked Harry wide-eyed. "We lost a third of our forces?" He couldn't believe the death toll had been that high on his side. It was worse than his worse predictions, not that he had had much time to think about it.

"There were too many of them, sir! We were outnumbered, not four-to-one as you thought initially, but five-to-one, not counting the dementors and giants! There were too many of them and too few of us."

She scowled as she finished talking, as if remembering something unpleasant "Those others aren't even worth mentioning!" she spat "Useless spell-fodder, the lot of them. Did you see them fighting those giants with stunners? It's incomprehensible that they were able to last this long without getting killed, if that's a measure of their usual modus operandi!"

"That has always been our problem from the start. Being too few, that is." interrupted Harry, before the lady lieutenant worked herself into a rant. She had advised Harry to take an aggressive stance towards the Order more than once, and was the foremost speaker amongst the Crimson Brigades to criticize the other group's policies.

Harry sighed, and said "It didn't seem so bad during the battle. How could we have lost so many without me noticing it? Even in the middle of that chaos, I would've noticed!"

"That's because most died from their wounds, some even after arriving here. Their injuries didn't keep them from helping though; most of those who died kept firing spells at the enemy after being injured, even though they knew it would weaken them. They literally fought to their last breath."

Harry bowed his head in grief. He had no problems killing death eaters, they were his enemies and the scum of the Earth; the time when he would feel remorseful for the deaths he caused among Voldemort's followers had long passed. He also had little problem accepting the deaths of aurors and Order members, they meant nothing to him now. Accepting the death of friends and companions, people he saw on a daily basis and shared his goals and ideals, however, was a lot harder.

And as always, at times like these, his old lack of self-confidence made a comeback, and Harry started questioning himself, wondering if there was anything else, anything more he could have done to prevent their deaths, or even if he should have approached them at all, trying to get them to join the fight against the dark lord.

Fortunately, these moments never lasted long. The time when he questioned each and every one of his own actions was also in the past, and he brushed his doubts aside. No one could be a leader in times of war (and remain alive for long) without being decisive and without a strong personality, and Harry was no exception.

He had done what he could, as had the men and women that had lost their lives this day, and Harry knew them enough to understand that they would've eventually been dragged into the conflict, one way or another. The fact that they were not the sort to stay idle while there was trouble brewing was one of the reasons they had been approached by Harry in the first place.

Harry and the rest of the survivors would grieve, honor the memories of the fallen, and eventually move on. There was nothing else they could do.

"I wasn't the only one entitled to a private room, was I? I hope the rest of them aren't cramped in some infirmary sleeping in army cots while I get this." said Harry, gesturing to the room he was in.

"No problem; like I said, the ward we occupied is adequate and we all have rooms. Scrimshit was none too happy about it, and had his aurors storming the place. The ones that weren't... discouraged, shall we say, by the wards we set up, were soon flying down the hallways with their tails between their legs when they saw there were still some people here, including yours truly, capable of casting curses."

"Scrimgeour is just being an asshole, as usual. It's not like any ministry staff actually needs medical attention." said Harry, shrugging.

"True. The few aurors who actually were in the alley are beyond medical help. Hell, they'll need shovels to scrape them off the floor and walls." she said with a little smile.

"Scrimgeour should be given the Kiss for that! His conduct during battle was nothing short of criminal!" stated Harry hotly, thinking about the actions of the cowardly politician. "Oh, to hell with them! Let's stop talking about stupid animals and focus on the important things. Like, where are Athena and Gerard?"

Athena McGonnagal and Gerard Crécy were the other two lieutenants in Harry's forces. Together, they helped manage the Brigades by taking care of the little details Harry had no time for, like supplies, medical assistance in the field, monetary compensations for the Brigades' members (at Harry's expenses), lodgings, etc.

Athena was Minerva McGonnagal's younger sister by two years. Unlike her older sibling, Athena wasn't very concerned with following rules, but she was no less forceful in standing up to her ideals. This led to some considerable attrition between the two sisters when Minerva found out Athena belonged to Harry Potter's militia.

Death Eaters had been allowed to get away with all sorts of crimes, just because most of them belonged to the upper echelons of wizarding society; Athena didn't like it, but she had little to do with the wizarding world, so she was perfectly content to let the wizards take care of their own mess. However, a dangerous line was crossed when death eaters threatened her family.

She was contacted by some pureblood from a self-important family. He had appeared on her doorstep, where he delivered a rousing speech about blood purity, loyalty from ancient families to the greater causes, and made not so subtle threats to whoever tried to fight the inevitable rule of the purebloods, led by the glorious Voldemort.

While Athena's husband, Martin (Marty to his friends) Weasley, a retired accountant, listened calmly and uncomprehendingly (he had even less to do with wizarding society than his wife) to the strange man's monologue, Athena cracked her knuckles, tightened her jaw, and got a dangerous glint in her eyes, accompanied by her gritting teeth.

The death eater kept talking on and on, oblivious to his rapidly approaching doom, while Marty was still trying to understand what was it that the young man was trying to sell them. Athena then told Marty to go inside, and that she'd take care of things; this would've been the death eater's last chance to make a run for it, but he still didn't understand the danger he was in.

There was no prolonged duel, no last words, and no flashy spells. Athena merely turned her wand on the death eater, transfigured him into a common earthworm and stepped on him. Realizing that death eaters wouldn't leave them alone if they chose to remain neutral, especially after the death of one of their recruiters, she joined Harry's group soon after.

Harry had a rule he absolutely enforced: if a couple had children to look after, only one of the spouses could join his group. He made it so to try and prevent children becoming orphans of both parents, should anything go wrong. In Athena and Marty's case, he didn't have to worry.

Their children were already adults and living on their own, so an exception could be made; however, as soon as he met Marty, Harry realized he wasn't cut out to fight, not that that was a bad thing. Marty Weasley shared his younger cousin Arthur's fascination with muggles, so much so that he chose to live like one. His desire to fit in with the muggles led him to seek one of the most boring, mundane jobs he could find, and so he became an accountant (a job he considered absolutely fascinating, from the first day until he retired); in fact, most of his relatives forgot he was a wizard, and considered him a squib.

An affable man, Marty was everyone's friend, easily distracted, and obsessed with videogames and car racing. The first time Harry saw him, he struggled not to laugh at the sight of a stick-thin, red-haired man, wearing old fashioned racing goggles, a cap and a scarf, driving a car that clearly belonged in a museum and doing laps around his property. However, no matter how fond Harry was of the eccentric old man, he didn't have the abilities or the inclination to fight a war, so only Athena ended up joining; being just as intelligent and organized as her sister, but a lot more easy-going, she was a real asset to Harry's army.

Gerard, on the other hand, couldn't be described as intelligent, organized, or as being particularly wise. He was a gambler and a small-time crook, and one of the laziest people to have ever lived. He could literally spend days on end in bed, lying down and doing nothing, and few things or people had the power to make him come out of such lethargic, near comatose states.

He was only a few years older than Harry and pretty good company when he wanted, so the two of them got along famously after Harry got him out of some second rate jail in France, where he had been arrested for disturbance of public order (actually, he started a fight in a bar with a few blood purists, and things just got out of hand).

Of course, Gerard had other qualities that made him eligible for his position. He got the Brigades whatever supplies were needed at half the normal cost, and was able to acquire pretty much anything that was asked of him, including rare items or restricted merchandise, despite whatever monetary, geographical or legal barriers he had to overcome.

He also had a talent to come across bits and pieces of information that would normally be extremely hard to come by; normally, if a death eater or Voldemort supporter got a little tipsy at bars and spoke too much, or if any relevant merchandise was bought through the black market, Gerard was one of the first to know.

Of course, just these qualities wouldn't have gotten Gerard into a command post inside Harry's Brigades. However, if Gerard was an all-around crook and thief, just like one Mundungus Fletcher, he also happened to have a deep-rooted hatred of Voldemort, and particularly of the dark lord's servants.

When Gerard was about 5 years old, a few months before Voldemort's first fall, the death eaters started spreading their activities to other parts of Europe, confident that the struggle for the control of Britain was already won (indeed, a large part of the british wizarding society had given up hope of Voldemort ever being defeated, and was fully prepared to live under the dark lord's rule).

The death eaters' next target was, of course, France, and one of their few raids on that country had resulted in the death of Gerard's family; his father, a prominent speaker in the french ministry for the rights of muggleborn wizards and witches, was immediately targeted, and Gerard, still a child, had to watch his house being invaded in the middle of the night by black-robed strangers, and his mother and baby brother being murdered by the first killing curses thrown that night.

His father ran and dragged Gerard with him to the house's second floor. Unable to apparate away, the man opened a window and levitated a crying Gerard to safety, hiding him behind a thick cope of trees near his house. Gerard's father told him to run away and those were his last words, as an explosion ended his life. Gerard stayed hidden for hours, crying and watching his house and his family burn down.

The sounds of apparation startled him enough to move once more and he ran away, thinking it was the death eaters again. The ministry aurors, finding no signs of life, listed the whole Crécy family as dead, and so started Gerard's life on the streets.

These events in his life, which only Harry was privy to, led to his hatred of death eaters. Harry understood that deep down inside, behind his scoundrel attitude, his minor drinking and gambling problem, and his occasional bouts of depression that he disguised as laziness, there were deep emotional scars that had never truly healed and copious amounts of survivor's guilt.

Gerard pounced on Harry's offer to join the Crimson Brigades, not caring if he got a command post or not, as long as he got the chance to fight death eaters. The way he fought made it seem as if he was trying to prove something, to compensate something; maybe he thought that by killing enough death eaters he would find some sort of redemption for what had happened when he was 5 years old, which he perceived as an act of unforgivable cowardice on his part. Somehow, the fact that he was only 5 never seemed relevant to him when thought of his actions that night.

Streetwise and a veritable master of dirty fighting, Gerard still fought with the viciousness of a cornered, rabid stray dog. That, coupled with a few particularly destructive spells Harry had thought him, quickly turned him into a fearful enemy for whatever death eater that crossed his path.

Harry's thoughts quickly got back to the present and away from his friends' personal history, as he watched the same people he had been thinking about enter his room. There were noticeable differences in them, however. Athena's hair suddenly didn't seem so gray, and Harry was pretty sure some of her wrinkles had disappeared in only the few hours he hadn't seen her; Gerard had a hard to read look on his face, but for a second Harry was reminded of Sirius' smiles after he had left Azkaban, almost as if Gerard had been imprisoned for a long time and got suddenly freed.

All in all, he had rarely seen his friends so happy or carefree. His attention was then drawn to a third person entering his room, who Harry recognized, astounded, as being Marty. The reason for Harry's surprise was the fact that Marty looked beaten up, with a black eye and his right arm in a sling, even though the older man was smiling widely.

"Marty, what on earth..." started Harry, promptly interrupted by Gerard's loud voice.

"Ha! Old Mad Marty got jealous of us manly men and our battle injuries, so he decided to get some for himself!" said Gerard, grinning at a red-faced Marty.

"Humph! As if!" snorted Athena.

"I heard you were all here recovering from the battle, so I came to visit and to see if Athena was alright. But I was in such a hurry that I slipped and fell down a flight of stairs. Luckily, I was already in the hospital!" said Marty, speaking as if he truly was the luckiest man alive.

Athena started berating her husband for carelessness, while the other three occupants of the room tried not to laugh; Gerard was being particularly unsuccessful at containing his mirth, and started laughing as soon as Marty finished speaking.

"You don't look that injured yourself Gerard. In fact, I don't see a scratch on you!" said Harry, raising his eyebrows.

"Bah, you're just whining 'cause you took a beatin' out there! And honestly, I'm surprised you ain't in worse condition!" said Gerard.

"Yeah, that reminds me..." said Harry, touching his chest, and wincing slightly from the pain "Where's my armor?"

Athena sighed, grabbed something from a corner of the room, and said "I knew you'd ask about it. It probably saved your life, but you won't use it again." she finished, throwing a black lump of leather at Harry's lap.

Harry stared mournfully at what had once been a vest of black dragon leather that he used to wear beneath his robes, and now had a hole the size of a plate in it.

"Man, this will be impossible to repair." mumbled Harry.

"I never understood what's so special about that thing anyway. Why're you so down about it?" asked Gerard.

"Do you even know how rare these things are? Do you know how much it cost me? There's only one man alive on the entire world that has the ability to actually make this kind of items, and I had to hound him for weeks before he agreed to make me this."

Marty was genuinely interested, and the other three must have found it amusing to hear their commander whining about the loss of one of his 'toys', so they didn't interrupt Harry's rant.

"This vest was made with a dragon's outer layer of skin, from the scaled hide. Most articles sold that claim to be dragon skin are in fact made from a dragon's inner layer of skin, which although resistant, is not much better than normal cow or pig leather. To work on the scales though, to mold it into a usable vest, and have the skin retain its natural resistance, a master leatherworker is needed. And there's only one person alive capable of it, and now that Voldemort's dead he probably won't repair it!"

"Seeing as Voldemort's dead, along with most of his followers, then you won't need your armor anyway, right?" asked Athena.

Harry shot her a dirty look and grumbled "That's not the point."

"Boys are really attached to their toys, no? I thought you were past that stage, commander!"

Harry just huffed and turned away from them.

"Well, we'll leave you for now, Harry. The other visitors can wait, and you need to rest." said Soi Lin.

Harry has just got comfortable and ready to take a nap, and asked "What other visitors?"

"Scrimgeour, obviously."

"I'll pass." said Harry.

"Rita Skeeter."

"Pass, and tell her I'll make it a point to step on every insect I find from now on."

"Luna Lovegood, from the Quibbler."

"Send her up."

"Then there's a group of Order members. Ronald Weasley..."

"Pass."

"Remus Lupin."

"Definitely pass."

"And Hermione Weasley."

"Absolutely pass. Just ask Luna to come up and tell the others to sod off."

"As I suspected. And you have someone waiting to see you too, Athena."

"Let me guess. My sister?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll meet her in my room. See you later, Harry."

Everyone started moving out, but Gerard popped his head through the door for a parting shot at Harry.

"Nice work on gettin' a hot blonde to meet ya alone on a hospital room, Harry! But in the condition you're in, you won't be able to do much! Tough luck!" shouted Gerard, laughing like an idiot. He was still laughing when a flower vase thrown by Harry smashed against his face, knocking him out.

"Git." mumbled Harry, smiling at the other man's antics.

As Harry was waiting for Luna, he started thinking about all the people wanting to see him, none of which he was very keen on meeting. He knew he could avoid Scrimgeour until he was fully healed, his Brigades wouldn't have any problems fending off auror attacks, if it ever came to that. After he healed, there was very little, if anything, Scrimgeour could do against him.

He had nothing to say to any Order members either, and that included Remus and Ron; Harry and Ron had drifted apart, slowly but surely. There was no major argument, no fight between the two of them, they just realized one day they had little in common anymore, and so they just stopped talking and hanging out with each other.

Of course, not every separation went as smoothly as the one between Harry and Ron; some were rather stormy, and one even escalated into violence, namely, the one between Harry and Remus. It was one of the rare occasions in which the mild tempered werewolf lost his cool. Bitter words and accusations were traded from part to part in an epic shouting match between the two of them. No words were left unsaid, and all their perceived faults were thrown in their faces.

Remus' overused statement about Harry's parents being ashamed of him would have been largely ignored, had the werewolf not delivered it so physically, that is by grabbing Harry by the collar of his robes and lifting him off the ground. Remus would then spend two weeks in the hospital, regretting laying his hands on Harry and healing two smashed kneecaps. That had been the last time they met, prior to the battle in Diagon Alley.

As for Luna, Harry didn't mind meeting with her, as he genuinely liked the younger and eccentric witch. She had never been a Dumbledore or Order groupie, even if she was in good terms with most of them, and she was one of the rare people from Harry's time at Hogwarts he still called a friend.

The one person that truly bothered Harry was Hermione, formerly Granger, now Weasley. One thing that had not changed about her was her tenacity and stubbornness; once she got her mind set on something, she wouldn't rest until she got what she wanted. So, if she wanted to meet with him, she would probably hound and harass Harry every time he showed himself in public, not caring if she happened to be rude or inconvenient, until Harry agreed to speak with her, or until Harry got fed up with her and decided to forcibly extract her vocal cords.

Sighing, Harry wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn't employed all that energy and tenacity fighting death eaters during all the years she had been part of the Order.

Or maybe it was nothing important, and all those people who wanted to meet him just wanted to wish him a speedy recovery and would soon find something better to do and leave him alone. Unlikely, but he could always hope. He was drawn out of his musings by Luna's arrival.

"Hello, Harry. Did you know there's a man sleeping outside your room with flowers growing out of his nose?" she said calmly, as she got a notepad and pen out of her purse.

'Trust Luna to lighten up any situation.' thought a chuckling Harry.

_Author's Note: Thank you for all the positive feedback on the first chapter. I'll try not to disappoint anyone and flesh out this future universe a bit more. To all the people who asked me to keep this as a one shot, my apologies, but I never meant it to be left that way. However, if I ever wrote a one shot final battle, it would be practically the same as the first chapter, so feel free to leave it at that. _

_Also, I'd like to apologize for taking so long to update, but I've got a job now and not much time to write. _


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